


Ye Olde Frag Club

by ladydragon76



Series: Ye Olde [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Commission fic, Genre: PWP, M/M, Rating: NC-17 - Freeform, genre: crack, smut: sticky, verse: idw, warning: canon- what canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> The old-timers like to get together now and then when it can be arranged and frag each other’s bolts loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ye Olde Frag Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [White Aster (white_aster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/gifts).



> **‘Verse:** IDW/MTMTE  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Kup/Ratchet/Rung/Cyclonus  
>  **Warnings:** Sticky, Cracky, Dead Dove Inside  
>  **Notes:** Commissioned by White Aster! Thank you, dearheart! This was SO FUN to write. LOL! And as requested, a note from my client:
> 
> “Dedicated to the sexy!Kup-hating anon(s) on Tumblr, without whose complaints this fic would never have been commissioned. Enjoy! ~<3”

“I-” Ratchet stopped and gave Rung a more considering look where the small, orange mech sat calmly polishing his glasses. “Is this your _professional_ observation?” It wouldn’t be the first time either of them had considered the sexual health of a patient alongside the physical, emotional, and mental. But Cyclonus? And they usually didn’t discuss patients -when joint care was even required- in Ratchet’s personal quarters. Business was kept to their offices.

“Oh no, not professional,” Rung said and slid his glasses back on. Ratchet had offered to repair the delicate focusing rings, but Rung had waved him off. The offer stood, and Rung knew it, so onward they went.

“Ok.” Ratchet took a sip of his high grade and leaned back into the soft comfort of his chair. “You think Cyclonus would even be interested?”

“I see no harm in asking him.”

Ratchet arched an optic ridge and thought about that nice long sword Cyclonus had taken to wearing all around, but then dismissed it. Cyclonus hadn’t been any more dangerous than anyone else, and far less so than quite a few mechs had proved to be. “Alright. He’s certainly old enough.” Then he paused and frowned. “Should we ask Tailgate too? He’s technically old enough.”

Rung was already shaking his helm before Ratchet finished the suggestion. “Physical age notwithstanding, Tailgate lacks the life experience to fit into our… little club.” He smiled a coy little smile, then sipped his own energon.

Ratchet couldn’t help but snicker. “The next meeting of which is in a mere three days, so if we’re going to invite Cyclonus, then I suppose we better schedule a time with him to talk in private. If we aren’t inviting along his roommate and… well, whatever Tailgate actually is to him, then we should be discreet.”

The light behind Rung’s left lens winked out and back on, and after a moment, he said, “I have pinged him the offer to meet in your office tomorrow midmorning?”

“That works.” Ratchet gave it another moment’s thought, then nodded. Yes, his office was good. Official enough to hide the true purpose from the nosy crew, and yet close enough to the side door into his quarters once they let Cyclonus know this was a personal request, not a professional appointment. “Let me know if he declines?”

“Of course,” Rung replied, then smiled brightly. “I am very much looking forward to the get together.”

Ratchet snickered. “Oh yeah? Need to take the edge off?”

That coy grin was back, and Rung drained his energon and stood. “If you are willing to assist?”

Ratchet chuckled, then finished his energon before standing and gesturing through the door to his berthroom. “Always. Could do with a little appetizer myself.”

~ | ~

“I misheard,” Cyclonus said. He hung back by Ratchet’s door, arms crossed defensively over his chest, and his tone said not that he _had_ misheard, just that he might hope he had.

Rung smiled that benign smile of his, and Ratchet bit back the urge to laugh. “I rather doubt you misheard,” Rung said. “However, we are aware of how surprising this invitation might be for you.”

Ratchet did laugh as Cyclonus cast him a disbelieving look. “We’re serious. Next meeting of the Old Bots Sex Club is in two days. Kup has already arranged for a room, and Rung and I will be heading there once the _Lost Light_ docks with the space station.”

Cyclonus gave them a slow blink. “It has a name?”

Rung gave a delicate cough to cover up his laugh, but Ratchet didn’t bother with hiding his amusement. “No, not officially,” he replied, still chuckling. “Nothing about it is official. We’re just old friends that know the value of a good frag.”

Cyclonus glanced at Rung as he nodded agreement, then asked, “Old friends? And I would not be… intruding?”

“Wouldn’t invite you along if we thought it’d be an intrusion,” Ratchet answered. He could see the curiosity in Cyclonus, well-hidden though it was. Mech was a statue, but Ratchet had plenty of experience seeing through ‘expressionless’ expressions. He smirked and added, “No strings attached, and kind of like that movie we watched a few weeks back. Rule number one: don’t talk about Ye Old-ee Frag Club. Rule number two: _don’t_ talk about Ye Old-ee Frag Club.”

“We prefer to keep things discreet,” Rung added. “Lovers do of course happen on occasion, and no one is required to attend-”

“Though I can’t think of a single time we’ve missed a meeting for that reason,” Ratchet said under Rung’s explanation.

“-of course. We aren’t here to pressure you, Cyclonus, just invite.”

“Because I’m old,” Cyclonus said more than asked.

“Yep,” Ratchet answered with a grin. “And while you can say no and walk right out that door, or Pits, say maybe and show up or don’t, whichever- We’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about this to the others. Last fragging thing any of us want is some young stud crashing the party and missing the entire point.”

Cyclonus stared at them, only his optics moving, and those only enough to meet Ratchet’s optics, then Rung’s, then back. Then back again. “So…” he said, drawing the word out. “No attachments. No emotionality. Just pleasure sharing between mechs old enough to appreciate more than a quick overload?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly.”

Cyclonus dipped his chin in a nod. “I shall consider it and give you my answer tomorrow before the start of the night cycle.” Then he beat a hasty retreat with a grace that belied just how frelling stunned and freaked out he was.

Ratchet cackled after the door shut, then laughed even harder at the amused-but-chiding look Rung gave him. “He’ll say yes.”

“We will see,” Rung replied.

Ratchet just smirked, then laughed some more.

~ | ~

Cyclonus rarely gave into something as flimsy as mere curiosity -or his body’s distracting desire for release- but in this instance it turned out to be impossible to resist. It was no secret that few enjoyed his company, and the situation with Tailgate was… complicated. And frustrating. Ratchet and Rung had come to him, _invited_ him. They saw him as an equal to themselves, not as a threat or an enemy. Cyclonus did not know Kup other than by reputation -he would judge for himself once they met- and was assured that Kup was willing and aware that Cyclonus would be attending. As he had been told, and had asked to have clarified again, there was no pressure on him to join in if he did not want to. He could leave at any time if the event did not appeal to him.

_“This is for relaxation, Cyclonus,” Ratchet had said the night before when Cyclonus approached him regarding his answer. “It’s a chance to take a breath with other mechs that get it, shut off the public façade for a few hours, and really enjoy ourselves the way we can’t with others. If you don’t want to come along, that’s alright. If you get there and just want to watch, that’s fine too. If you decide you would rather leave, then just let one of us know so we can be sure no one’s going to see inside the room when we open the door for you. No pressure. This is the exact opposite, in fact. So if you’re not comfortable for any reason, no one’s going to hold your absence against you.”_

Cyclonus had nodded, said he would be there, then left with all the dignity his frantically pulsing spark would allow him. He was too old for such ridiculous levels of anticipation. He had interfaced plenty throughout his life, with plenty of mechs. Nervousness was a waste of energy and processing power. In truth, he wasn’t terribly attracted to either Ratchet or Rung -and Kup remained sight unseen- so the fact that his spike was pinched tight in its housing, and that he’d felt it necessary to check that lubricant wasn’t seeping out from the edges of his panel before leaving his quarters, was rather… odd. There was no reason for such a strong reaction, unless, as Ratchet and Rung had surmised, Cyclonus truly was in need of a break.

The space station was a bustling and busy place full of various aliens, and they all flowed around Cyclonus as he finally made his way to his destination. Traders hauled goods back and forth, waving and shouting to friends and compatriots. The hawkers hired by the myriad bars shouted out drink specials, the more entertaining of them dancing and singing, but all brightly dressed. Prostitutes smiled and waved from the balconies above, their red lights casting a lusty glow over their bodies and the railings they leaned over as they tried to entice customers up. One of the prostitutes caught his optic and winked the three on xer left at him. Cyclonus tipped his helm to a respectful, but declining angle, and couldn’t help but smirk at the playful pout cast at him. He’d spent a night with a Xarlaran once. Once was enough, though the memory certainly didn’t help ease the too-snug pinch of his housing around his spike.

Cyclonus found the correct lift and keyed in the proper deck. As had been explained, they all arrived separately to help keep things quiet and under the radar as much as possible.

_”The sneaking’s part of the fun,” Ratchet had said with a grin while Rung smiled and tipped his helm in agreement._

Cyclonus wasn’t sure he could disagree, and when he stepped off the lift, he gave a covert glance around. There was one janitor cleaning an area of the floor, and Cyclonus carefully navigated around it with a nod for the being, then continued down and around a corner. Four doors down on the left was the right room number, and he lifted a hand to press the chime.

The door opened to reveal a softly green mech with a cylindrical object clenched between his teeth. “What’s the secret password?”

Cyclonus arched an optic ridge, but Ratchet’s familiar snicker sounded from within the room. Ratchet had mentioned no such password to him, and while the medic occasionally seemed to be a bit of a prankster, Rung was not the type to forget such a detail, nor was he the pranking sort. “They failed to inform me that one exists.”

The mech, presumably Kup, blinked at Cyclonus, then hooted a laugh as he stepped back. “Get in here,” he said with a wave. “Primus, Ratch, ya didn’t say he was _this_ stiff.”

Ratchet laughed from a chair off to the side. He slouched in a sprawl, one leg tossed over an arm and a glass of what looked like high grade in his right hand. “Why ruin the surprise? Besides, like I told Cyclonus here, we all have façades for the outside.” The glass was lifted and a finger pointed toward the green mech. “Cyclonus, Kup. Kup, meet Cyclonus. Once Rung gets here we can see about peeling back that façade.” He cast Cyclonus a smirk.

“Pleased ta meetcha,” Kup said and stuck out a hand toward Cyclonus. “Welcome to the old fart’s club.”

Cyclonus clasped Kup’s wrist and offered his own faint smile. “I thought it was called ye old frag club?”

“Ye old- _ee_ ,” Ratchet corrected as he finished his energon.

Kup shrugged as he let go of Cyclonus’ wrist. “No official name, though that ain’t stopped Ratch from namin’ it time and again.” He gestured toward a second chair when the door chimed. “Make yerself comfy.”

Ratchet grinned as Cyclonus settled into the chair. “You really do look damn tense.” He shook the empty glass. “There’s more high grade if you want to take the edge off a bit?”

“I would rather not be intoxicated for this,” Cyclonus replied as evenly as he could, but something like disapproval must have come through.

With a snort, Ratchet set the glass aside. “If you think one glass of high grade is enough to crater me or effect my ability to think or consent, have I got a surprise for you. Hey, Rung.”

“Greetings, all,” Rung said as he stepped in. Kup locked the door behind him, then moved to sit on the edge of the berth, which looked to be the direction Rung was headed before Ratchet stood.

“Here. You can have my seat.” The medic stepped aside and smirked down at Cyclonus. “Kup requires a check-up first so we don’t accidentally overtax his old aft.”

There was a ringing clang as Kup’s hand impacted Ratchet’s aft. “Had a full rebuild, ya glitch, and ya know it. Who was the one exhausted and slippin’ inta recharge halfway through the fun last time?”

Ratchet snorted and, with a move that impressed Cyclonus, twisted and dropped Kup onto the berth. “Not my fault you two were being so boring.” The medic planted one knee on the berth, then swung his other leg over Kup’s hips. “Now shut up, you know you like this.”

Cyclonus arched an optic ridge at Rung, and the psychiatrist snickered. “They like to work out their aggressions a bit first.”

“Enthusiasms,” Ratchet corrected. He and Kup appeared to be wrestling in some fashion, mostly with their hands. Kup tried to hold onto Ratchet’s wrists, and Ratchet seemed to be trying to escape the hold to work his fingers under Kup’s plating. It wasn’t the oddest form of foreplay Cyclonus had ever seen, but seeing Ratchet on the verge of giggling as he finally trapped one of Kup’s hands and got his fingers into a lateral transformation seam was close. Top ten, easily.

“Is this a… ritual?” Cyclonus asked as Ratchet tucked Kup’s forearm under his knee and went right back to delving under the green plating.

“Nothing so formal,” Rung replied, then pulled a cube of energon from his subspace. “Would you like one? It is best to stay properly energized.”

Cyclonus considered it, then accepted the cube of regular energon from Rung. “You said they liked to work their aggressions out?”

“Enthusiasms!” Ratchet repeated, then cursed roundly as Kup wriggled his arm free and moved to put the medic in an arm bar. “No you don’t, you fragger!”

Rung chuckled. “On occasion, when we have the space, they will spar and wrestle. Ratchet usually wins-”

“Damn right,” Ratchet growled, then, “Hah!” Kup’s wrists were shoved under Ratchet’s knees again and Kup cast Cyclonus and Rung a wink.

“-because Kup allows him to,” Rung finished.

“That’s his excuse and he’s stickin’ to it,” Ratchet said, his words underscored by a low moan from Kup.

Cyclonus sipped his energon as casually as he could and watched in something akin to fascination as whatever it was those red fingers were doing under Kup’s plating, reduced the warrior to a shuddering, moaning puddle of lust. The room filled with Kup’s field and the hitched gasp of his respiration. Cyclonus cycled his vents in as steady a manner as he could and overrode the command that would open his panel. Heat prickled through his lines, and he had to admit there was certainly an attraction to the situation, if not the mechs involved. There was a beauty to the way Kup arched into Ratchet’s hands, and the way his own now clutched at the medic to keep him close. Ratchet’s optics were bright, but shaded a far deeper color than usual, and the smile on his face was one of self-satisfaction and triumph.

“Like playing an instrument,” Ratchet said with a distinctive purring note. “Strum here.” Kup gasped. “Pluck there.” A low groan filled the room, and the medic’s smile turned unholy. “Press here…”

Kup arched and shook, his field flaring echoes of bright ecstasy throughout the room. He sunk back with a low moan, then rubbed his hands up and down Ratchet’s thighs to ground himself. “Needed that.”

Ratchet snickered, plucked the cygar from Kup’s mouth, then leaned down to kiss him deeply.

“Very nice show, as always,” Rung said with a smile. The rest of his energon was drained in one long pull, and the cube dispersed with an absentminded squeeze as he stood. “Would you like to join them?” he invited, turning his gaze to Cyclonus.

Cyclonus finished his energon as well, dispersed the cube, and rose in answer. It was why he had come along after all, and his array was certainly in agreement.

Rung crossed the few steps to a berth that seemed fine for two mechs, but a bit small for four. Ratchet pulled away from the kiss with a scrape of teeth over Kup’s lower lip, then sat up to reach for Rung. “My turn,” the medic said and pulled the willing orange mech right onto the berth and across Kup. Ratchet settled on his back with a wide smile aimed at Rung.

“So that was nice, but I find m’self a bit charged still,” Kup said, his optics meeting Cyclonus’. He chased after Ratchet’s hand for the cygar, but instead of putting it back in his mouth, he set it on the low berthside table. “Feelin’ up to spikin’ a mech ya just met?”

“If he is interested in such,” Cyclonus replied.

Kup snorted. “Yeah. Façade’s right. Git down here, kid.” He lifted and spread his knees, pointing to the berth between them.

Cyclonus knelt where directed, but was distracted from further banter by Rung’s wavering cry. Ratchet bit his lip, optics bright and locked on Rung’s face. One hand helped hold the smaller mech up, the other danced his fingers over sensitive connectors on Rung’s back.

“Medic’s hands,” Kup said with a chuckle, and Ratchet grinned without taking his optics off of Rung.

Rung keened again, helm falling back, and his hips wound in tight, hitched circles over the medic’s pelvis. Cyclonus knew they had not yet retracted their panels, but Rung seemed halfway to overload already.

“Yeah, it’s a nice show there, but com’on and put yer hands on me.” Kup leaned up enough to catch one of Cyclonus’ wrists and lift his hand from his own thighs. “Show me what ya got.”

Cyclonus arched an optic ridge, and gave Kup a slight smirk as he put his hands on the mech’s knees and stroked up his thighs. He recalled Rung’s comments about taking their time, and Ratchet’s blunter, “ _Brats. All they want is to ram their spike in, or have one rammed into them._ ” Complete with a _tsk_ of disapproval. Kup’s comment likely did not indicate an impatience to have Cyclonus pop his panel just yet, so he set out to map the new frame before him. Ratchet had pushed his hands under the lower edge of Kup’s chest plating, and Cyclonus imitated that, curious as to just what was so sensitive under there.

Kup lifted into the touches with a pleased grin, but Cyclonus didn’t stay there long. “Surely there are more places that just there.”

“Find ‘em,” Kup dared.

“Oh!” Rung gasped, and finally there was a click of a panel retracting.

“He lost last time too,” Ratchet said, then chuckled and allowed his own panel to retract as well.

“I was unaware it was a contest?” Cyclonus said, but beyond noting the rather _extravagant_ red LED inlay on Ratchet’s spike, his focus was on Kup and the green mech’s reactions to his touches.

“Ratch likes ta name things and make up contests,” Kup explained while, to his side, Rung keened and fell forward to brace his hands on Ratchet’s chest.

Cyclonus made a noncommittal sound and scooted his knees forward. Kup’s thighs were pulled better over his own, and then the exposed joints explored with searching fingers. That earned him a shiver, and Cyclonus moved on to map the rest of the green frame. When he finally made it back to Kup’s pelvic plating, the array cover was hot to the touch and Kup was cycling his vents in a very deliberate bid for control. Cyclonus met the rich blue optics and smirked. Then stroked a single fingertip down the center of the panel.

It sprung open with a click loud enough to be heard over Rung’s breathless pleading and Ratchet’s low moans and grunts. Cyclonus let his own panel retract, spike springing free, and said with no small amount of pride, “I win.”

“Not a contest,” Kup said, his voice rather breathless as well.

“Accept defeat gracefully, Autobot,” Cyclonus rumbled, amusement coloring his tone. He rubbed his knuckles through the slick lubricant that coated Kup’s array, rolling them over the rim of his valve and met the mech’s optics with an arched ridge. Kup’s chin dipped in a nod, so Cyclonus lined himself up, then slowly pushed in.

“Primus, fragging… nngh!”

Cyclonus smiled, but shut his optics to better focus on the plush, hot lining as it clutched and spread around his spike. There was a ripple of the calipers, then a tighter clench.

“Com’on!” Kup demanded with a bounce of his hips and decidedly pleasant inward roll from those calipers.

“Impatient youngling,” Cyclonus chided, and Ratchet snorted, then began to laugh.

“Oh dear,” Rung said, but when Cyclonus glanced at him, he was smiling too. Ratchet laughed in a helpless sort of way, which bounced Rung a bit. Their rhythm was completely broken, but neither seemed to mind.

“Fraggers. The lot of ya,” Kup grumbled. His legs suddenly tightened around Cyclonus’ hips and pulled, making Cyclonus fall forward. He was quickly buried housing-deep and left reeling from the sudden rush of pleasure. “That’s better. Ain’t delicate, slaggit. Pound me like ya mean it.”

Rung giggled, then cried out. Then again, but Cyclonus didn’t bother to look. He was busy with the hot clench of Kup’s valve and the demanding buck, roll, squeeze the mech was employing. “As you wish.” He tapped Kup’s outer thigh. “Let go a moment.” Kup did so, letting his legs fall out to the sides, and Cyclonus pulled out.

“That wasn’t part o’ the bargain,” Kup complained.

“On your knees,” Cyclonus ordered.

Kup’s face lit with a wide smile. “Now ya’re talkin’!” He twisted over, knees spread and back arched to present his aft for Cyclonus. “Com’on and frag it like it sassed ya.”

Cyclonus chuckled despite himself as Kup waved his aft back and forth, then caught his hip with one hand while bringing the other down in a heavy smack. Kup jolted and Ratchet’s optics went round as he looked over at Cyclonus.

“Ohh~ Later. You must absolutely spank me later,” Rung said. “If you’re willing,” he added, a lustful smile on his face.

Cyclonus blinked, then gave a short nod. “If you like.” Then he grabbed Kup’s hips and jerked him back onto his spike with one brutal thrust. Kup shouted and Rung bit his lower lip before beginning to rock over Ratchet’s spike again. His gaze seemed locked on the slight scuff Cyclonus’ smack had caused, and Cyclonus shared a smirk with Ratchet before turning his full focus back to Kup. Their plating rang from each deep plunge Cyclonus made and, to his embarrassment, he felt the charge blossom and swell far too quickly.

Perhaps it was not entirely his fault, however. Kup, despite the rending grip he had on the berth cushion and loud, desperate cries, worked his valve in a way only the most well-trained courtesans could. The calipers rolled in, pulling on Cyclonus’ spike as he withdrew, only to push down and out, clamping and rippling as he thrust back in.

“Can last longer than you,” Ratchet panted, his words directed toward Cyclonus.

Cyclonus growled, clenched his jaw, and gave Kup’s aft another solid slap. Rung’s screams burst from him, high and clear, and Kup laughed into his own overload as Ratchet hissed a curse and convulsed. Cyclonus growled again, this time a low, pleased sound, and let his own release boil up through his lines, hot and molten as the transfluid that spurted with each crest deep into Kup.

“Slagger,” Ratchet gasped as Rung collapsed over him.

“Well played,” Rung purred, a sated smile on his face.

For a few minutes they all just stayed as they were. Cyclonus knelt, hands roaming in a soothing pattern over Kup’s aft and lower back as the mech purred, while Ratchet cuddled Rung until the smaller mech pushed himself up.

“Cyclonus? Would you be willing to indulge me?”

The spanking? Already? Cyclonus opened his mouth to answer, but Rung had ahold of his arm and was tugging lightly.

“Lie back if you will,” Rung said. “No, that way please.” He pointed and Cyclonus arranged himself toward the foot of the berth, knees up, braced back on his elbows. Rung’s light, eager hands nudged his knees apart, and Cyclonus cast a snickering Ratchet a curious look, but then the orange helm dipped low. Soft warmth swept around the well-lubricated rim of Cyclonus’ valve, and he spread his legs wider.

“Night’s still young,” Ratchet said with a grin, and Cyclonus hissed in a sharp breath as Rung chuckled against his valve.

“Oughta punish you for that,” Kup muttered. He pushed to his knees and grasped Rung’s hips. “Fact I think I will. Sit there and watch. No touchin’. Not even yerself.”

“Oh the torture~” Ratchet laughed.

Kup shook his helm, nudged his spike into Rung, then set up a slow steady pace that only aided Rung’s thorough exploration of Cyclonus’ valve.

Cyclonus laid back, enjoying the thick heat that tingled through his lines, and stretched out a hand to Ratchet. “Would you like to be disobedient?” Ratchet laughed even as he crawled over to Cyclonus and allowed himself to be pulled about to sit on the purple chest.

“I love being disobedient,” the medic said. “Feeling adventurous after you give Rung that spanking, I could probably use some _real_ punishment myself.” He settled with his knees to either side of Cyclonus’ helm and gave a theatrical rock and moan.

Cyclonus chuckled again, grinning as the low, vibrating rumble made Ratchet moan again, but with feeling this time. The heady scent of lubricant filled his senses and made his spark throb a little faster, though the more insistent thrusts of Rung’s tongue into his valve certainly aided in that. Each sweep shot a wave of need to tighten into the growing knot of thick pleasure in his belly.

“New rule this time,” Ratchet said, vents hitching and panting as he rocked and ground down against Cyclonus’ mouth. “First to overload wins.”

“Cheater,” Kup ground out.

Cyclonus grasped the medic’s aft and pushed him up, hands sliding to grip the backs of pale thighs to keep Ratchet from pressing down again. He could feel the spiraling heat winding through his sensornet. Rung was close too, he knew from the distracted but hungry licks, the way he sucked at Cyclonus’ array when Kup rocked him forward. It was the same thing Cyclonus was resisting doing to Ratchet even as he wound his hips and tried to push harder against Rung’s mouth.

“Slagger!” Ratchet snarled, hips rolling and thighs flexing. “Hate you! Hate you!”

“Mmn,” Cyclonus hummed as the medic’s complaints turned to whimpers. His own vents hitched as Rung’s mouth was replaced by two pumping fingers. Cyclonus’ joints locked up, his back arched, and a sharp cry escaped him as the overload tore through his systems. There was another high keening, but he was too lost in his own pleasure to track the voice. He drifted back down from the clouds to the sound of Kup laughing and the sight Ratchet glaring down at him in stymied arousal.

“Sadistic,” Kup said. “Get him wound, then leave ‘im wantin’. Good work, kid.” Cyclonus’ thigh was slapped, then Kup pulled free of Rung and motioned to Ratchet. “Get over here, ya big whiner. I’ll see ta ya.”

Rung dragged himself up Cyclonus’ body and laid draped over his chest. “I am very glad you decided to join us.”

Cyclonus glanced down and smiled. “As am I. Thank you for the invitation.”

Rung’s hand lifted and dropped in an abbreviated ‘think nothing of it’ gesture as he turned his helm to watch Kup shove Ratchet to the berth and impale him. Cyclonus wrapped an arm over the smaller mech and tucked the other under his helm. He absolutely had needed this, and was looking forward to the rest of the night.


End file.
